


464. This is no-terror ground: The beginning

by SevlinRipley



Series: This is No-Terror Ground [1]
Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: The footie pajamas are just the first of many extraordinary things Richie notices about Eddie's room.• Monday; June 07, 1993





	464. This is no-terror ground: The beginning

There was something to be said about the fact that the curtains were closed, and that Eddie Kaspbrak morphed into a statue the moment Richie Tozier passed through them. "Cute pj's, Eds... Baby section have a sale ya couldn't pass up?" was not something that _needed_ to be said, but was, in fact, said anyway.

See, Richie should have known he wasn't welcome in Eddie's room just then, because Eddie always left the curtains open for him. Well, maybe not _for_ him, but open and inviting nevertheless. If ever the curtains were closed, Richie usually ran into an issue with the window being locked as well. At which point he'd huff, knock on the window, wait for a few minutes, and assume that the punk had gone somewhere without him. And he would leave.

One might think that would be enough of a pattern that Richie wouldn't even have to climb off his bike, if he saw the curtains blocking out the world, then best to not waste his time shimmying up the trellis, gutter, and roof just to find the window locking him out. Richie didn't care for patterns he didn't choose himself, however, so Richie always hoped for the best, and tried anyway. Today it had finally paid off.

As Richie rounded the bed, to come face to face with Eddie, he began to pick up a few more oddities from around the room. But it wasn't until he could see the heat radiating from Eddie's face - witness the fear in Eddie's eyes as he looked steadfast down at his bed... That Richie really began to question what he'd walked in on. Richie allowed himself to fall quiet, hating that it _looked_ like Eddie was afraid of _him_. Annoyed, put off, angry, sore at. All fine. Richie dealt with them on a daily basis and called them upon himself almost without thought. But scared? Eddie had never been _scared_ of Richie. He didn't fucking like it, either.

So it wasn't just the footed pajamas. It was the pacifier on the night stand, the sippy cup with apple juice, the coloring book and Crayolas, _and_ a look Richie had never seen directed his way before.

Was this a thing? One of those _things_ he'd read about somewhere? If he said it outright, Eddie was sure to deny it, even though the evidence was all around him. He could try to play it off, guilt Richie into denial, too. Strain their friendship for weeks, or for months. A lie sitting glaringly between them.

Richie bit into his lower lip, and then cleared his throat. Gently sitting himself on the bed, criss-cross, next to Eddie. He looked at the picture in the coloring book. A superhero eating a sandwich while fending off a wimpy lookin' villain with a colander helmet on his head. Or the other way around, maybe? Richie couldn't tell, had never seen the characters before.

Tentatively, trying not to make Eddie flinch, though it'd be nice if he stopped sitting so stiffly, too, Richie reached for one of the crayons lying in the crease of the book. Giving himself more time to take everything in before he dared speak again.

The line art was being filled in to the standard of a perfectionist, prudent.

Turning the crayon over in his fingers, using his knuckles to flip it back and forth, Richie pushed his glasses up his nose with his other hand, and leaned into Eddie's shoulder. He could feel when Eddie took his next breath, labored, still silent and still enough to suggest Richie was some kind of T-Rex, who wouldn't be able to catch on to what was happening if Eddie just pretended he, himself, was not there.

"You know, Eds. Little boys and little girls don't have to color in the lines. You see, their imaginations mean they can place color _anywhere_ on the page they want to. And _then_ they can just imagine them to where they need to be." His voice was gentle, steady. He was tempted to show Eddie just what he meant on the other half of the picture, but didn't want to ruin it in case Eddie disagreed.

The tone he took on - the sincerity, maybe - must've broken through something. Something cold and hard and terrible, to Eddie's warm and soft center. Because when Richie looked back to Eddie's face, there was a small tear rolling down, probably steamed hot from humiliation, and he was actually _looking_ at Richie. "Please don't tell anyone," he said, throat all gurgled up, eyes and mouth turned down at the corners.

Richie's brow drew tight, and he pulled Eddie by the side of his head, to lean on his chest, brushing his hair down. "Eds, I _wouldn't_. I would never tell anyone unless you wanted me to. But just so you know, I don't think they'd care." Richie didn't know if it was the idea of people not judging him, or if it was the terror of anyone else ever knowing that really cracked into Eddie's resolve. But a loud sucking in of breath, and a particularly wet sniffle told Richie that Eddie was really starting to give way to crying. "Shit," Richie whispered, looking around. No stuffed animals? _What the hell_.

Then he saw the pacifier, from the corner of his eye, almost directly behind him. He reached with the hand not holding Eddie's face to his collar bone, and grabbed it, before presenting it to Eddie. "Shh, it's gonna be fine Eds, please," he hushed, somehow moving passed his own embarrassment and trepidation to push the pacifier into Eddie's mouth when he didn't take it on his own. He hugged Eddie even closer, finding some _way_ to rock him back and forth.

They stayed that way until Richie felt the tension finally ease out from Eddie's shoulders, his back, tummy, legs, neck, as he melted into Richie.

He'd been worried. So worried Eddie would never give up, never let go of the pain he was building up within. When it left, Richie couldn't help but release a long exhale of relief.

Richie's chin pressed to Eddie's warm forehead when he turned down to ask Eddie if he wanted some juice. He remembered that crying could be painful, make you dehydrated, claw out your throat. Not that Eddie had been crying the way that Richie did when Bowers was still about. Before he got sent to the sanitarium. No, Eddie held things in with an impeccable intensity. Richie wondered if that didn't just hurt all the more.

Eddie nodded his head, and Richie smiled. Felt a warmth unravel over him as he realized Eddie must have, at some point, decided he could trust Richie like this. Didn't even make a move to get the juice himself. Just stayed wrapped around Richie. Good...

Reaching for the apple juice took some stretching. He swore he could hear a little laugh come out from behind the binky in Eddie's mouth as Richie audibly strained to get hold of it. "Yes, very funny. The man with the mile-long arms can't do a damn thing with them." It was true. He had very little muscle in his lanky old arms. Though a sippy cup, he wagered, _could_ be done. If he weren't trying so hard not to squish Eddie.

When he got a hold of it, he brought the cup around to Eddie's front, letting him take it in his hand, as he gripped the circular end of the pacifier, waiting for Eddie to let it pop out from between his lips. Richie took another steadying breath in as he laid his cheek on top of Eddie's head. Not in the angle to do much else, and still trying not to think too hard about what was happening.

It wasn't that he thought Eddie should be ashamed. Though it had definitely surprised Richie. And he still wasn't even completely sure what was going on, or why. But he didn't want to make Eddie uncomfortable. Make him retreat again, or feel inspected. Feel alien, at all. Even though Richie desperately wanted to ask Eddie how this had come about. If it was anyone's fault. Should Richie have been protecting Eddie and watching him more closely to make sure he didn't end up needing _whatever_ this was.

A seventeen-year-old boy. A boy...

Maybe sometime Richie could find the words that wouldn't accuse, wouldn't hurt. Maybe Eddie would come to tell him all on his own. But for now, Richie was learning quiet and patience in a way that he'd never been tested before. He could tell this was real. The threat of losing Eddie if he didn't tread carefully. So no matter what, he was going to take care.

Eddie shifted, so that he could grasp the sippy cup at both handles. The apple juice was nearly gone now.

Richie smiled to himself, and, rubbing Eddie's back in circles, he said, "Hey, can I have a sip?" For a drawn-out moment, Richie could see a flicker of war in his eyes. Some part of him screaming, 'No, that's gross. I'm not giving you my germs.' And then some part of him, some fighting-to-the-death part of him saying, 'I don't know what germs are. But sharing is good.'

Cheeks still burnt red, Eddie nodded, handing the drink over. Spit-slick pacifier locked between his outer fingers, Richie took the cup and took the barest of drinks. Then grimaced. "Ew. What is this, sugar _removed_ apple juice?" He handed it back. Eddie was clearly holding back a smirk at Richie's disgust. 'You asked for it,' his eyes said. But he didn't say anything as he tipped the rest of it back.

"You like that?" Richie asked, half-curious, half-bewildered.

Shrugging, Eddie set the cup down, then looked studiously at his hands. Richie felt some sort of wall mending between them, and instinctively slapped his hand to Eddie's knee, trying to stop it. Somehow. With physical presence. Connection.

Eddie sighed, then said, to his lap, "Richie, you don't have to pretend this isn't weird... I know it is." The lines of discomfort etched around his eyes, and the hardening lines of his shoulders suggested this wasn't the 'sometime' Richie had been thinking about. This was Eddie. Forcing himself to confront the truth, rather than gradually accepting it on his own, and becoming ready to let others accept it, too.

Richie squared his jaw, studying Eddie for a moment before picking up the discarded cup. He looked it over, turning it in the air between them, and then said, "I know it's important, or whatever, not to give kids too much sugar. But this is ridiculous. Cutting sugar from _everything_ is for old people." He set the sippy cup and the pacifier, both, on the bed table. Then turned back at the waist to look Eddie dead-on, a small smile on his lips. "Next time I come over, I'm bringing you good ol' fashioned apple juice, all the sugar included." He knew Mrs. K only allowed _herself_ to eat processed foods, leaving all the non-fat, no sugar-added shit to Eddie.

Probably with the intention of him turning out better than she did, round and borderline diabetic. Which was fine, but as with everything else, she always took it too far. Richie could see how she might be squeezing the life out of Eddie, depriving him so much that someday he might break.

Binge eat a thousand donuts and 1 liter Coke bottles. It's what Richie would inevitably do in his position.

Except Eddie was more reasonable. Maybe he never would let go of the reigns completely. Or maybe this was his experimentation in doing so. Even though his childhood had _never_ been free-wheeling enough to make him truly think he had more freedom when he was younger. He must have been aware, though, based on the stories kids told at school. That he was almost completely alone in the way his mother restricted him.

"Richie," Eddie said again, so soft it almost wasn't there.

"Hey Eds, do you want me to color with you? Or, if you wanna take a nap, I could tell you a story or something," Richie said, hastily trying to prove to Eddie that he didn't _have_ to explain himself. Richie didn't _care_ as long as Eddie was okay.

Eddie worried at his bottom lip. Richie didn't know whether to gauge his expressions, or give him privacy and look away, as he decided what step to take on next. Carefully, Eddie turned on the bed, folded his coloring book up, and began sweeping the crayons into the pencil bag Richie vaguely remembered from elementary school. The one with the penguins and polar bears and igloos, on a faded blue and lavender background.

He felt himself smiling wide, without completely knowing why. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he might have succeeded in proving himself to Eddie. At least for now. Or it could've been something deeper being satisfied. Whatever it was, he couldn't help the edge of excitement in his voice as he asked, "Nap?" Climbing off the bed, and out of the way in case Eddie was going to lie down.

Richie took the coloring book, and the pencil bag, and set them under Eddie's bed, where the covers swept the carpet fibers.

His face still read as embarrassed, but even with his mouth hinged slightly open, Eddie seemed to be processing the idea of hope. "I'm really good at stories," Richie said, prompting Eddie to just take the bait, the way he could tell Eddie wanted to. Though his body was taut, like a rubber band being pulled at opposite ends, Eddie chose to accept the offer, and slowly laid his head back on the pillow.

Swallowing, Richie paused, unsure of where to go. Then recalled how his father had laid down beside him at night, little golden book in hand, and would even sometimes fall asleep right along with Richie. Sucking in a breath, Richie knee'd up onto the bed, and then turned to lay on a sliver of space that was open, heart stuttering when Eddie naturally moved to the side to let him in closer.

"Uh... okay. Once there was a boy named Eddie Spaghetti," Richie began. Then paused for thought. He'd said he was a good story teller, and in some ways he was. But then Richie realized _who_ his story was for, and frowned. "Wait. How old are you?"

Eddie pursed his lips at the question, then cocked his head. He lifted a hand, just barely, from his stomach, and held up two fingers, then three, then four. And shrugged into the bed.

Oh. He wasn't really sure, himself, but that was okay. Richie probably could have guessed as much. But just to reiterate to himself, he thought: No violence, no scary stuff. Just something funny. Light-hearted. Of course. "Oh, okay, I got it!" Richie said, thinking of the coloring book beneath him. "There once was a boy named Eddie Spaghetti. This was his name because he _loved_ eating spaghetti. It was messy, and fun to slurp up, so he ate it nearly every day." This trailed off into a tale about how he ended up befriending the town villain, Colander Head, and used his helmet to drain the water off his pasta, before they sat down to share a meal together. And that was how Eddie reformed a villain just by being nice.

Richie was surprised, although he shouldn't have been, to find that after all the voices he'd put on, and all the minor useless details he'd added to the story, Eddie had actually fallen asleep. Perhaps exhausted from the emotional afternoon he'd had. Richie could very well understand, because he was tired too. Or would be, if he thought long and hard about it. But his chest felt full as he looked at Eddie's face, eyelashes resting on his cheeks. No longer blistered and blushing. Peaceful. Like Eddie deserved.

He hesitated on the idea of leaving Eddie to it, but was scared Eddie's mother might find him and jump into god knew _what_ kind of frenzy. So he got up from the bed, double checked the lock on Eddie's door, and then set his alarm clock for ten more minutes of rest. He also took the liberty of tucking the cup and binky into the drawers.

Biting his lip, he hovered over Eddie for a moment, before getting up the courage to leave. Afraid Eddie wouldn't be able to unwind if he woke up with Richie still there. "Bye, Eds," he whispered. 'I love you,' lingered on his tongue (as it often had before,) but he bit it away. "I'll get you a stuffed animal too," he told him, thinking it looked lonely, all of the sudden, to be lying there in footie pajamas with nothing to hold. He pushed his glasses up his nose, then moved to the window, exiting as quietly as possible. He rode his bike straight to the store, not wasting a moment before fulfilling the promises he'd made.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know how this fandom will take this fic, but I don't expect it to be looked on with much favor. It's okay if you don't like it, or for some reason feel offended by the idea. But hopefully if you've read this far, it's because you understand the spirit which this is coming from, and don't find Eddie's vulnerability ... distasteful. My intent is not to make him even 'weaker' and I hope that comes through. That maybe he has to re-learn what it's like, to really be able to make choices that aren't always so perfect, so orderly. Anyway... If that doesn't come across I really am sorry, because I'd never want to hurt Eddie or his character in any way.
> 
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> ~~So nervous about posting this. If it's universally hated, I'll remove it.~~
> 
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> ETA Feb/1/2018: I feel so lucky right now... Thank you so much to those who've left kudos and comments. I'm so glad to see there are those who share my feelings on this subject matter. ♥ Thank you again! It means so much to me.


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